The Providence news. (Providence [R.I.]) 1891-1906, 1898-06-21

tAAOAA atNE III ftV ~ ~ 49,
to dispatch them.
In the waters Of the harbor the hun
CRY. man eating sharks swim restlessly
to and fro, and woe to the seaman who
loses his footing and falls overheard
he will not wen rise again. And down
there where. the dark fins show is q
wonderful old relic of the days Of Philip
III of Spain-the naked ribs OF the old
st. Paul, doubtless tho last remnant Of
the great Spanish armada Of i5ss-the
wreck Of Spanish hopes nearly three
centuries ago. Always the history OF
Santiago do Cuba has been full Of crime
and oppression. Here have been some
Of the most barbarous acts Of barbarous
Spaips But vengeance never came. Life
In the old town dragged on, the rip
ping bay keeping its own secrets, and
old MORO Castle Guarding hers. The
world was far away, and the cry Of the
oppressed was feeble.
But the day Of reckoning came ut
last. Strange, fearful shapes loomed up
ON the green waves Of tho Caribbean
sea, and Santiago do Cuba was at last
face to face with the vengeance Of the
civilized world. The great ships spoke,
end the yellow. vine clasped walls of
MORO crumbled. Now at night the
weird searchlights from a dozen ships
sweep across the dark waters, and even
the secrets of the strange cave below
MORO are known to them, for they 60
where only the waves crept in.
And within the harbor Of Santiago
de Cuba SPANS new armada is in ref
uge-in what fateful surroundings.
Below the sharks swim around the last
vestige of the ''invincible armada
and wait. On shore the walls Of tho
abattoir mark where the Virginius men
fell. On the Gale cathedral the Amer
lean consulate is empty and the flag
staff is stripped. Across the way there
is no merry chat and no laughter, the
market folk show little food and the
prices arc high. Already the grip Of
famine is felt.
The tall peaks Of tho Sierra Maestro
tower above the city, threatening, hem.
ming it in from the help that might
come by land. And behind the noun.
tains, perhaps even now among the
hills and gazing down upon the city,
are the descendants Of those slaves who
were driven over the gangways of the
brigantines. And the insurgents, broth
er patriots Of those who fell from Nor
ro's ramparts into the sea, are there
the homeless ones, the vengeful ones.
At any time may come the warning cry,
"Los insurrectos, los insurrectos!"
The batteries of Punta Gorda, of La
Socapa and MORO, are still There is
no sunset gun, for the turrets and tow
ers of Moro have fallen and the walls
crashed down inso the sea, even as the
bodies of the patriots fell. And before
the harbor, part armored by the ore from
the Sierra Maestra's heart, the grim
war vessels of los Americanos nov in
stately line-avengers Of the starving
ones of Cuba.
Los Amcricanos! The windows of the
homos are barred, the doois are heavy,
the walls are fortress strong, but, saints
Of heaven, what can keep them out?
Look up the channel where, in the
dawn, came but seven Americanos, eat
ing fire and drinking battle smoke, like
black devils, with that ship Of theirs,
hacking her open for the sea to rush in,
firing their death machines to send her
to the bottom, and themselves, with no
fear Of the sharks below, plunging into
the sea itself, and springing from it
again. Mother of God, 1t is not possible
To kill theml And nowhere is no way
out.-Cortelle Jones Hutchins in Chi
cago Tribune.